


10. wisdom like this

by astrogeny



Series: if not, winter [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogeny/pseuds/astrogeny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought that she’s fickle, that she’s expecting Soleil to love her (to really love her) just because she’s a girl, is what stops Ophelia just short of a sweeping monologue or an overture to a well-timed kiss, every time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10. wisdom like this

**Author's Note:**

> i sure didn’t mean to actually whip up a half-baked drabble for that sappho challenge, yet here i am, not even starting w/the first poem in the list….. this is for poem 10, b/c i can’t resist sophelia when the ship writes its own hokey sun and stars references. this is sort of a b-side to "we should be lovers instead", in that it’s ophelia’s own feelings of “does she like me, or does she Like Me like me?”. also enjoy ophelia’s ridiculous internal dialogue and her revisionist interpretations of constellation mythos www

“not one girl i think  
who looks on the light of the sun  
will ever  
have wisdom  
like this”

She takes Soleil out on a cold winter night, cold enough that her own breath tears through her lungs and makes her teeth ache.  They are stargazing–Soleil’s suggestion, though Ophelia knows it’s born more from a desire to cater to her interests than any genuine astrological knowledge on Soleil’s part.  Ophelia resolves to be her teacher, then.

“If you look…right there, yes,” squinting along the line of her own pointing finger, “You’ll see the tresses of the queen flowing behind her as she preens and displays her beauty for all the cosmos to see.”

“Is it just her hair I’m supposed to be looking for?” Soleil asks.  Ophelia glances up to see her peering, mouth set in a perplexed pout.  "Where’s the rest of her?“  Soleil’s breath puffs out in a soft cloud through the slightest gap between her lips, one that Ophelia is seized by the desire to kiss.  She buries the thought, but not deeply.  

"You’ve got to imagine that bit,” Ophelia admits.  "Once you’ve studied the configurations of the stars enough, their faces and stories begin to take shape.“  Soleil nods slowly, evidently pretending that she can pick out the right cluster of stars and draw a thread between them.  Ophelia loves her, quietly, for trying.  She indicates another array of constellations, down and to the right from the first pair.  "Here,” she says, “This might be more to your tastes.  According to the Hoshidans, this set of stars signifies a tenma-riding princess locked in mortal combat with a leviathan of the deep!  When no prince came to save her from the beast’s jaws, she tore herself loose of her bonds, sprung onto her steed, and fought for her own freedom.”

Soleil’s smile in response is the kind Ophelia can only meet head-on in the dark, where not even a full moon can belie how hard it makes her face flush.  She wonders time and time again why she bothers to hide her affections when Soleil lets hers shine bright and open as the midday sun.  The thought that she’s fickle, that she’s expecting Soleil to love her (to really love her) just because she’s a girl, is what stops Ophelia just short of a sweeping monologue or an overture to a well-timed kiss, every time.  I could save you from that monster, she might say, we could each be one another’s princess, we could be each be one another’s wings.  It’s a shame that her excellent star-themed pickup lines must always go to waste.

She sniffles, and it makes a muffled echo out across the nighttime air.  

“Oh!  Do you need a hanky?  I have, like, six of them, hold on,” and Soleil is already snaking a gloved hand into her sleeve, of all places, to produce a handkerchief with what appear to be slightly malformed bunny rabbits prancing all along the edges.  Ophelia accepts it gingerly, picturing Soleil doggedly stitching the design in to make something cute out of a glorified snot rag.

“Confound this leaky faucet of phlegm, broken wide open by the bitter winter’s assault,” Ophelia complains in a voice made pinched by the handkerchief over her nose.  She tries to blow in the most maidenly way possible, so as to avoid leaving Soleil with the image of her snorting out snot.

“We can go back inside,” offers Soleil.  "I can fix you some tea or something, maybe?“

"Tea for true?” teases Ophelia, turning to face Soleil.  "At this hour?“

"It’s always time for tea–what else would we be doing?”

Ophelia can think of any number of other things they could be doing, placing a hand lightly on Soleil’s forearm.  Light enough that she could brush it off, or bring a hesitant hand of her own to hover just over Ophelia’s waist.  It’s endearingly awkward, a liminal gesture whose threshold they are both stopping just short of.  They could kiss, like this, under the stars, and no one would ever have to know.  Ophelia’s pulse flutters adamantly, leaving her light-headed.  I want to know if you adore me, truly, the way I’ve come to adore you, she might say.

“Your nose is running, too,” is what she says instead.  They both burst into nervous laughter, but their hands do not move from each other.


End file.
